


The History Books Never Mentioned That

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: Avengers UnPacked [13]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26548960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: The next installment of this A/B/O funtime story!~~~Peter wakes up slowly, feeling the warmth of someone from the Team seeping into his back.  He wiggles back, delighted, and takes a deep breath.  Mmm.  The room smells like fresh brownies and it must be a beta, then, because there’s no alpha scent.No.Wait.Peter’s eyes flutter open as he inhales again.Exhausted-brownie-alpha musk.  And in front of him, on the hospital bed, the pale, sheet draped form of Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, He Who Smells Like Dessert.  Peter’s Alpha.  Well, no.  Not- it was just a mission.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Darcy Lewis/Jane Foster/Thor, Pepper Potts/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Avengers UnPacked [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623790
Comments: 54
Kudos: 127





	The History Books Never Mentioned That

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is what happens when I read a recommended story that turns into reading TEN A/B/O fics, find out that there are no RULES for this shit, and decide, "Well, fuck it, if everyone's having fun in this sandbox, I'm going to, too."
> 
> You don't have to like it, I promise. But I had a whole lot of fun writing it.
> 
> Beta'd by my brave jf4m and mindwiped, who are easily the most courageous people on the planet, because I threw this at them and said JESUS CHRIST I DON'T EVEN KNOW. I'M SORRY, and then they corrected my spelling and caught my errors like the pros they are, anyway.
> 
> I've put links to the fics I read to learn about A/B/O in the end notes of the first story.
> 
> Every remaining mistake and all the broken things about the rules of this AU belongs to me. Me and 3 AM, baby.

Peter wakes up slowly, feeling the warmth of someone from the Team seeping into his back. He wiggles back, delighted, and takes a deep breath. Mmm. The room smells like fresh brownies and it must be a beta, then, because there’s no alpha scent.

No.

Wait.

Peter’s eyes flutter open as he inhales again. 

Exhausted-brownie- _alpha musk_. And in front of him, on the hospital bed, the pale, sheet draped form of Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, He Who Smells Like Dessert. Peter’s Alpha. Well, no. Not- it was just a mission.

_You have become the key_ , repeats Wanda from memory, a voice from the stubborn part of Peter’s brain. The enormous sense of responsibility crashes down once again, bringing tears to his eyes. How is _Peter_ going to fix this, make everything ok for the man who followed him out of the alley? Is it even possible?

He must make some noise, because Sam startles and then mutters soft, soothing words, tucking Peter closer to his chest.

Peter goes, because he’s no dummy. When comfort is offered, you take it.

He stares at the healthy pink tinge to Bucky’s cheeks, and his gaze darts up to the half-full bag of Super Scientist Cocktail hanging from the IV stand, no doubt whipped up by Bruce during the early morning hours. This bag is green, and glows faintly in the light of the undercabinet lights.

“Y’wake, finally?” mumbles Sam, shifting again, pressing a kiss to the back of Peter’s head. “Good ‘mega. Slept for a good long time, let me get some rest in, too.”

“They’ve changed his bags,” comments Peter, as if that isn’t obvious.

“Oh, yeah, ‘bout the tenth switch-out. ‘Ccording to the last nurse, Banner’s down in the lab cursing a blue streak because his body just absorbs everything and Banner’s racing to help it reconstruct all the- damage. You know.”

“Yes,” says Peter simply. He wants to be down there, because Banner swearing means science is happening at a rapid pace and _Peter is missing it_ , but he doesn’t even twitch. He just lays there, looking at Bucky, breathing in the scent of fresh brownies, and feeling _everything,_ all at once. Happy-sad-anxious-mad-overjoyed-overwhelmed, it hits like a sledgehammer and presses him back into the comforting bulk of Sam while he stares and stares and stares at Bucky.

“You okay?” asks Sam, his voice calm and confident, just checking in.

“I’m-” Peter makes it a point never to lie, now that he doesn’t have to. “I’m- I’m hungry?”

“I bet,” agrees Sam. “Well,” he sighs, stretching beside Peter, “Wanda said he’ll be out for another four hours or so, if she meant the 12 hour nap to be a timed thing. I’ll go grab us a real meal. What do you want?”

Peter thinks for too long. He knows it’s taking him too long, but he can’t help it. Bucky’s face seems stronger, thicker, his jaw more irresistibly stubborn. Peter sniffs the air. That _scent_. It’s mouthwatering, and unfair. And _exhausted_. Four more hours, is that going to be enough time? And then what? How is _Peter_ supposed to fix things? His throat tightens around the panic that rises up.

“Peter? Pup?” asks Sam, his tone going cautious.

“Mm?” asks Peter, startling a little, rolling over to look up at Sam.

“Not like you,” mutters Sam. His face looks concerned before it clears and he declares, “Nope. Not doing it. Hey, JARVIS, get someone to bring us up some lasagne. Garlic bread. Veggies. Something to drink, too.”

“You can go,” offers Peter. “It’s- I’m okay!” _He’s_ not the one lying in the bed, pale and exhausted after a couple of lifetimes of torture, after all.

“You are not. You’re acting weird,” says Sam pointedly.

“What? How?” splutters Peter. What in the world is Sam’s point of reference for what’s _weird_ around this Tower, anyway?

“You do not zone out, and you certainly never zone out when anyone’s asking you about food, and you keep huffing the air like it’s- you know what? JARVIS, one of the bloodhounds, please, someone who can give a sniff and have a shot at figuring out why he’s acting weird. Anyone not a beta,” clarifies Sam, frowning down at Peter.

“Very good, Beta Samwise Gamgee,” intones JARVIS with clear approval.

Peter widens his eyes innocently and tells Sam, “He just- smells really good, that’s all.” Smells really good, and might be _Peter’s_ , and Peter’s pretty sure he’s going to have to get a job, because Bucky doesn’t look _well_ enough, does he? And he’ll probably need, like, therapy or something. Or maybe Wanda can just fix his brain? _Can_ a half-century of torture be fixed? Maybe Alpha will let them stay- no, wait, _will he,_ though? Peter had crossed a lot of lines last night, had ordered Alpha around, and, yeah, it was a mission but- Peter swallows anxiously. But that’s not anything he’s ever done before. _No_ _one_ orders Alpha around like that.

If Peter wants to get any closer to the reassurance of Sam’s beta clean scent, he realizes, he’s going to have to open the beta up and, like, crawl _into_ Sam, and that’s not, not- okay. Maybe Sam’s picking up on some cues that Peter’s a little stressed. Maybe that’s what he means by _weird_.

“Uh- _huh_ ,” says Sam skeptically. “Well, I don’t know what all Wanda was going on about last night in regards to you being the key, but I do know that man is an assassin and you’re our precious little ommy and I can go _find_ another assassin if I have to, but you’re irreplaceable. So until the weird shit stops happening, you’re not alone here.”

“O-okay?” agrees Peter, mind racing on to other issues. Who’s bringing dinner is the _least important thing ever_. Somehow, he has to fix James Buchanon Barnes and he’s on a budget, and maybe Tony would give him a, a loan or something? “I mean, that’s- there’s always weird shit happening- but yeah, okay. Sorry you’re freaked out.”

“I’m not freaked out,” retorts Sam. “I’m being smart and cautious.”

Peter nods and stretches, turning back to look at Bucky, who is still sleeping, peacefully, looking really good.

“Man, did he just like, direct ship more muscles last night? I swear those were not there earlier,” mutters Sam into Peter’s ear, pulling Peter tighter yet, enveloping Peter in the warmth of Pack and Safety while they watch the sleeping man breathe for several long, slow minutes.

Peter sniffs the air as quietly as he can. It smells _amazing_.

~~~

Tony watches Steve’s shoulders tighten and feels his own jaw clench in sympathy.

Yeah.

This was gonna suck.

He shifts the basket with the dinner plates to one arm and puts a hand on his Alpha’s back for support, for comfort, for- for whatever he can give to the man who has to walk in and begin sorting through all of- of _this_. Not for a million billion dollars and six Nobels would he trade places with Alpha today, he thinks.

Steve presses back briefly against the hand and then says firmly, “Open up, JARVIS.”

“Yes, Alpha,” intones the AI, opening the door silently.

Steve takes a deep bracing breath and then steps inside, going directly to the bed in the center of the room.

Tony avoids the bed entirely- and if that’s not a metaphor for something that’s going to come up in therapy, he will eat his left shoe and bark at the moon. Whatever. He can deal with that later. He heads for his pup instead.

Peter looks too pale by far.

“You’re too pale,” he informs Peter, and then sniffs the air. Eau de Marshmallow Pup In Distress. “And you’re- mm- okay, wait- that smells _delicious_ , is that--?”

“Bucky,” agrees Steve, eyes not leaving the sleeping man’s face. “Always smelled like that. Never had a problem finding a date.”

“Not like that,” agrees Tony, allowing his eyes to widen to convey his shocked approval. He shakes himself and then points a finger at Peter, “Stop thinking everything you’re thinking.”

“S-stop?” says his pup, face wrinkled with confusion. “Stop- stop what? Exactly?”

“Everything. The whole- you’re a cloud of- Steve, he’s asleep, he’s fine, come here,” commands Tony, crossing his arms and frowning down at Peter. “This one’s not fine.”

“I knew it!” interjects Sam, pulling back from Peter to point a finger at him. “I knew it! I said-”

“I’m fine,” protests Peter, gaze switching between the two of them. “I’m- Omega, I’m-”

Steve’s shadow traces its way over the blanket covering them and Peter gulps and finishes, very quietly, “Fine.”

“Yeah, no, you’re absolutely the opposite of fine, pup, I can smell it layered like, like burnt marshmallows all over the- is it brownies? Is that- is Bucky Barnes _freshly baked brownies_ , Steve?” demands Tony, feeling offended enough to throw out his arms in emphasis and rest them on his hips in exasperation. The history books _never_ mentioned that. _Howard_ never mentioned that. No one ever mentioned that! And that is _worth mentioning_ about the guy.

“He is,” rumbles Alpha.

Tony crosses his arms and frowns down at Peter. 

Peter looks back, eyes wide and wild and _there-_ just a little frantic, just a little scared-

Just a little, a pup in over his head.

“Knees,” growls Alpha, and Peter must have been half expecting it, must have been, because he slips out from under the blanket and hits the floor in the smoothest motion Tony’s ever seen, hands behind his back, throat bared.

_Ah._ Someone’s feeling a little guilty, then, too. That explains it. Well, Peter’s a good pup and Steve’s the best Alpha in the world. They’ll sort it out fast. Tony takes another low breath, because _brownies_ is just unfair and unreal, and also? _Amazing_.

~~~

Steve looks down at the scared face upturned towards him, the pup’s eyes frantic on his. Still a pup, then, still sweet, still anxious and eager to do the right thing, always so careful to do the exact right thing. Time to tread carefully. Last night had been more than half his fault, in retrospect. He should have put the filters in before they started walking. It was his aversion to the scent-blindness they created that caused all of the, uh, discomfort, last night. But, then again, who could have predicted how strong the pup’s scent would get?

Steve sighs because, like almost everything in his life, the answer is, of course, _Tony_.

Damn his mate for not anticipating all of this awkward now. Actually, no, he probably anticipated it and probably had a good laugh, Steve admits to himself blackly. _Dammit_.

After a long moment of contemplation for the situation he’s now in, Steve crouches down. He lets his hands drift to rest heavily on the pup’s shoulders, pinching just a bit, enough so that the pup can feel the strength of them, the power and the control. “Who am I?” he asks Peter, his voice calm and assured, with just a little bit of Alpha roughness.

“A-alpha,” whispers the pup, eyes dilating a little with fear.

“Yes,” agrees Steve shortly, approval shaping the entire word. “ _Your_ Alpha.”

“My Alpha,” repeats Peter obediently, nodding.

“And do you tell me- ever- what I will do?” asks Steve, because that’s the question, isn’t it? That’s why the pup’s scent is all over the place, unsettled, uncertain. Last night, he’d had to switch allegiances to bring Bucky home, and he’s just a pup, still, for all he’s been through several heats. For all he’d scented so sweetly _ready_ last night. He’s just a pup, and _pups don’t tell their Alphas to step back._

“No-no, Alpha,” begs Peter, pretty brown eyes filming with tears. “No, please, Alpha, I don’t- I don’t even _want_ to, please. I- it was just that it was _Bucky_ , Bucky Barnes and he asked, he said-”

Steve rumbles a little, just enough to comfort the omega, just enough to let him know he doesn’t need to panic. Peter’s such a good little omega, so sweet and kind, and he knows his place in the pack. They’ll sort this through quickly, because he’s _such a good omega_.

“Who am I?” he asks again, firmly. It’s always best to be firm with pups, give them no room for error, make things clear. It’s not fair to leave them dangling or confused. Clear. Direct. Honest. Firm.

“A-alpha, my A-alpha,” whispers Peter, twisting under his hands, twisting to slink closer. It’s a good instinct, and Steve will let him get what he needs, once they’ve sorted through this.

“And do you tell me what to do?” Steve asks again.

“N-no, Alpha,” repeats Peter in the same begging tone he’d used earlier. “N-no, I won’t, I don’t, _please_.”

“Do you use your voice on me? Sweet-talk me into whatever _you_ want?” Steve keeps his voice hard, hammering the lesson through verbally, his hands gripping tightly but not painfully on the pup’s shoulder.

“N-no, please, I’m- I’m sorry, Alpha,” whimpers Peter, crouching forward, trying to slink closer.

Steve thinks back over the previous evening, from start to finish and says, slowly, “You did good work, bringing Bucky in. But he’s mine now, my responsibility, and my pack alpha. You’re mine in the same way, my good little omega pup, Peter.”

Peter flushes, mouth gaping as he looks up at Steve, and nods, cheeks burning. Yeah, he never knows how to take the compliments. He’ll take the chewing out, but not the praise, thinks Steve a little sadly.

“He- he said,” says Peter, with just a little hint of an uncertain whine in his voice, “he said- he came out of the alley, for me- he-”

“He did,” agrees Steve firmly. He’s not taking that victory from Peter, he’s not. That’s not what this is about. “You did excellent work. And you’ll continue to work with him. He’ll be a Pack alpha, when he’s ready, Peter, the same way you’re a Pack omega.”

“Team,” corrects Tony in a mutter behind them, and Steve nods once and repeats, “Team, then.”

Peter’s eyes fill as he mumbles, “But he’s- Wanda said- I’m-”

Steve looks to Sam, the person here who can fill in _that_ blank and finish that sentence, as Peter seems unable to do. Sam swallows and clarifies, “Wanda said Peter was the key to something, like, inside the man’s head.”

_Of course._ Steve thinks about that for a long moment, trying to feel his way to the right answer, and then says, “And that’s good, Peter. We’ll, we’ll figure that out, too. But you’re still a pup, Peter, and not ready to-”

“Move out to a cute little one-bedroom in Bed Stuy with an ex-assassin who probably has more than a few screws loose yet, kid,” interrupts Tony, in a sympathetic tone, stepping closer. _Oh thank God, back up, the cavalry._ Steve doesn’t have to keep forging ahead alone. “I know, I get it, he smells _edible_ , and you absolutely saved his life last night, using all kinds of instinctive mating behavior, but-” Tony crouches next to Steve’s right side, and presses a hand to the pup’s cheek, making the tears spill over, “-but it was just a mission, hon. Your chemicals are all over the place, pup, because you messed with them hardcore last night, for a _mission_ , not a _mate_.”

“Jus’- jus’ a mission,” sighs the pup, scrubbing his cheek on Tony’s hand. He looks so miserable and young, and now it’s Steve’s hands holding him up, as he sags forward.

“You did so good,” Steve affirms again. “I am so proud of you.”

That makes the pup give a single sob, like it always does, and that’s enough of the lecture, he’s sorted out, thinks Steve, pulling the pup into his arms and feeling Tony swoop in, too. They hold him, their precious pup, the amazing young omega who can do damn near anything, who has such a big heart he’ll try to save just about anyone, if they’d let him. They hold him until his scent starts to stabilize, his heartbeat to calm back to his usual slow even tempo.

“A-alpha,” sniffles the pup, and Steve rubs his cheek against the pup’s cheek, scentmarking like mad, reassuring Peter and Peter’s instincts over and over again that there’s nothing wrong here, he’s okay, Alpha’s got him. He meets Tony’s eyes, and thinks about what a good team they are, how when he stumbles with the pups, it’s always Tony, right there, his back-up, his cavalry, riding to the rescue. The omega always knows just the right thing to say or do, and he’s going to be an _amazing_ mom, and Steve will be an okay dad, and look, Peter’s turned out just fine, and he was a mess when they got him. _They did that._

“I knew it had something to do with status, it _always_ has something to do with status when it’s one of you bloodhounds acting weird,” sighs Sam, shifting to the edge of the couch. “Did you bring the lasagna?”

Tony chuckles and Peter catches a laugh, too, a little hysterically, pulling out of the embrace. He looks sheepishly up at Steve and shakes his head, admitting, “I was, I was- I was trying to figure out what to do because he was my _responsibility_ and I had to, like-”

“All instinctive,” soothes Tony, leaning back to grab the basket of food and pull it to their little circle of people beside the couch. “Nothing wrong with your instincts. You tugged on the mating ones a little hard last night, that’s all. I’m not ready for you to wear white and go skipping into a one-bedroom yet, though.”

“Definitely hold out for a suite here at the Tower,” Sam tells Peter with mock seriousness, his eyes dancing. “I think the power couple at the top would let you stay in the Team, as long as you don’t throw yourself away on a loser.”

“Our Peter, with a loser?” mocks Tony, clutching imaginary pearls. “I’d lock him in a kennel first!”

“He would not,” Steve reassures Peter, when Peter looks at him, still a little shaky. “But we will make certain any alpha you bring home is worthy of you.”

All eyes slide to the sheet draped figure on the bed in the silence that falls.

“You’re- you’re going to help him, right, Alpha?” asks Peter in a small voice.

“Yeah, pup, we are,” Steve sighs, lifting a hand to scrub over his face and leaning back as Tony opens the lid on the basket and starts handing out covered plates and silverware.

He has no idea how, or if it’ll work, if he’ll get his best friend _back_ , but sometimes the whole secret to being the Alpha’s Alpha, the Most Alpha In the Room, is to be confident even when the odds are against you and you’re not certain of anything.

“We are,” repeats Peter, slotting a look over his shoulder at the bed. It seems to comfort him, settle him even more, make his shoulders rise and his chin lift, too, as he repeats it again, quietly, “We _will_.”

“Of course we will,” snorts Tony, passing Peter a glass of milk. “We’re Avengers. It’s in the job description.”

Steve pulls Peter to sit between them, inhaling the omega’s sweet, innocent scent. Someday, eventually, Peter’ll settle on another Alpha, someone who will promise to protect and respect him, share every Heat together, raise his pups, and, if Steve has any say in it, make Peter smile more than they make him cry. Someday, Peter will tell Steve to _step_ _back_ , and Steve will go, and let another alpha step forward. Someday. But not today, he reassures himself, sniffing the air quietly. 

Calm-denned-marshmallow, just right, just as it should be.

_Someday_ , thinks Steve with another swell of emotion for the pup beside him. He glances up at the bed, to the next thing that needs an Alpha to sort it out. When he lifts his eyes to Sam, the beta shifts his gaze from Bucky to look back at Steve, the lines on his face serious and compassionate.

“We’ll fix it,” Sam tells him lowly, taking a bite of garlic bread and nodding. Steve feels a tightness in his chest release. 

Yeah. They will. He may be Alpha, but he’s not alone. They’ll fix it.

~~~

Bucky shifts, feeling the crispness of cotton sheets above and below him, the warmth of home, of den, envelop him. Steve’s talking again, probably signing them up for something Bucky wants _no part of_ if Bucky knows his Alpha. Steve’s apple-pie-alpha musk is so strong he must be gettin’ close to rut or something.

Bucky breathes in again, deliberately scenting the air, because there it is, that _scent_ , that yummy, sweet, gooey- _waitaminute_ \- his eyes snap open to an unfamiliar room- _not his den_ \- and he yelps at Steve, confused, confused and with a rising panic through all of the _feels-so-good_ , “He’s a _pup?”_

**Author's Note:**

> See? Not abandoned! And you were all worried. 
> 
> I'm recovering from a month or so of repeated illness (not COVID, thank Glory) and so my posting will be erratic in these AUs as I get back to full strength, but I haven't abandoned anything and I have every intention of continuing the story. :)


End file.
